Wednesday, October 24, 2007

We all love work

It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do.It is not that I object to the work, mind you; I like work; it fascinates me.I can sit and look at it for hours.I love to keep it by me; the idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.

You cannot give me too much work; to accumulate work has almost become a passion with me; my study is so full of it now, that there is hardly an inch of room for any more.I shall have to throw out a wing soon.

And I am careful of my work, too.Why, some if the work that I have by me now has been in my possession for years and years, and there isn’t a finger-mark on it.I take a great pride in my work; I take it down now and then and dust it.No man keeps his work in a better state of preservation than I do.

But, though I crave for work, I still like to be fair.I do not ask for more than my proper share.

But I get it without asking for it – at least, so it appears to me – and this worries me.